


The Lotus Eaters

by pearypie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Apathy, Banter, Character studies, Death, Gen, Sarcasm, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearypie/pseuds/pearypie
Summary: “Is there anything else?”“No, not particularly. Another death has been reported.” The butler mentioned, almost as an afterthought. “A girl—from the lace and cuff factory."The earl resumed his reading.(An evening with the earl and his butler.)





	

To eat, drink, be merry—they were gilded concepts writ for a privileged, bygone era.

 

* * *

 

The girl had died in a factory explosion—lace and cuffs—but the detonation had been necessary to eradicate all traces of villainy and, in the end, the earl was not punished or even reprimanded. Her majesty saw no use in chiding her most capable servant and so, the deaths of these third rate citizens were published using very heartfelt words by the London Times and then—nothing.

Of course, the factory had to be tended to. It was prime real estate that the earl had taken a fancy to and three days later, the land was purchased. The lace and cuff factory would be reorganized and streamlined and all the workers would resume their routines wearing new hats and coats, courtesy of Funtom—their newest employer. Several street sweepers seized the opportunity to volunteer their services—after all, the ash and scrap metal from the explosion needed to be cleared and why hire some Irishman when there were good English workers available? 

So the Englishmen were hired and put to work because the earl was a pragmatic, expedient man who detested lethargy. He went to work on the management, time frame, and shipping lanes of this lace and cuff factory (“a thoroughly dismal affair,” he declared, “the previous owner couldn’t have managed a cabbage field”).

It took him a fortnight to remember the tragedy of the girl who had died in the explosion and out of pity (or sympathy or some other strange compulsion), he sent a letter of condolence to the girl’s grieving mother. However, this news was rather bourgeois and the newspapers ignored it while the earl continued his business.

(The girl’s corpse was picked up only a few days later, by a strange silver haired man dressed all in black.)

 

* * *

 

October was the busiest month for Funtom. Meeting minutes, non-disclosure agreements, business plans, memorandums—they were neatly filed on top the earl’s desk and systemically dealt with from 10 AM until 5 PM. From there the earl would spend an hour reviewing his quarterly earnings before taking a cup of tea and reading a tome writ by either Hobbes or Cicero. At around seven, the earl would sup in his magnificent dining room painted in shades of mahogany, candlelight, and dark blue before eight o’clock rang and he retired to his evening routine.

Bathing, undressing, and perhaps a little light reading before nine PM and then—it was dark, with a pitch-black sky and faint silver stars that appeared like pinpricks pressed into burnt ash.

If the earl was feeling particularly peckish, his butler would bring him a mug of hot milk and honey which the earl would drink and then discard. He had no need to rise or call his servant’s name, for Sebastian was a very particular butler who knew his master and enjoyed performing his given duties.

Tonight, the clock read half past eight and the earl was seated on a plush, upholstered parlor chair with a small, round side table made of rosewood near him. A cup of tea poured into Wedgwood porcelain sat there, scenting the entire room with a faint hint of bergamot and orange spice. The thick Persian carpet was sanguine and dark gold—an Oriental design from the East (perhaps India—the earl could not recall. His butler had purchased the rug in a fit of atrocious fancy) and the interwoven threads of gold glimmered like sunbeams against the rose-gold fire.

With one delicate, milk pale hand, the earl touched his teacup and then retracted his fingers. 

The sentence he was reading was of particular interest to him.

_Covenants, without the sword, are but words and of no strength to secure a man at all._

A faint smile of arctic cruelty appeared on the earl’s lips.

This was the sort of sentiment he liked best—this was the only sort of sentiment he understood.

And then—

The heavy doors of rich mahogany were pried open and the sanctity of the earl’s solitude was broken. In came a black figure carrying a silver tray; he wore a too pleasant half-smile and had the bearing of an aristocrat though he deferred, ever so politely, to the child-earl before him. 

“My lord.”

No hint of irritation appeared on the young nobleman's face though the slight downturn of his lips, something noticed only by his eagle eyed butler, hinted at his thinly veiled displeasure. “What is it, Sebastian.” He continued to read, one sapphire eye fixed on the text before him. 

“An invitation to the duke of St. Albans autumn soiree has arrived, one scheduled for the fourth of November.”

“Hm.”

“Will you accept or decline his most precipitous offer?" 

“If you can’t answer that inquiry without my aid then you have truly lost touch with human intuition.” He dismissed, blasé and cruel. 

The butler’s smile sharpened, a hint of winter in this gesture, but he remained ever pleasant, always formal. “Very well, my lord.” He bowed slightly, tray still in hand.

The evening report was not yet finished. 

“Miss Nina Hopkins telegrammed. Your evening wear collection is nearly finished but she would like to know if you preferred the velvet lining be from Kashmir or Venice.”

The earl turned a page. 

“Kashmir. The Venetians are merchants, not industrialists.” 

“Very well." The butler noted. "The duke of Suffolk has made a rather startling announcement—his lordship will be wedding the Lady Morton who is a rather ardent advocate for Funtom’s pastry line. She would like Funtom to prepare for her a wedding cake.” 

This gave the earl pause. With subdued elegance, he closed the black covered tome and turned his head (ever so slightly) to face his carnelian eyed butler. “An interesting proposition—but only if she meant it in sincerity.”  

“Indeed.” His devilish confidant smiled. He placed the tray on the earl's small side table and produced, from his breast coat pocket, a heavy cream envelope. “With an attache of ink and paper as proof.” 

A brutal half-smile appeared on his young master’s mouth. “And I had always thought Lady Millicent a tittering fool.”

“Has this redeemed her in your eyes?” 

“Not in the least.” The earl replied airily, holding out his hand.

The envelope was heavy for it was made out of vellum and sealed with a very large red wax insignia. For a moment, the butler was tempted to warn his young master of the envelope’s weight—he was such a delicate creature and the strange heaviness of this envelope might be, the diligent servant worried, too much for the earl’s moon pale wrist.

But the child was exacting and prideful and the butler was not in any position to disagree.

He handed him this white envelope (complete with ink and wax). And...

The earl’s wrist did not shatter from the weight of it. 

Time rolled on as his master read Lady Morton’s request and, after a few moments, gave a slight nod. “I shall write to Mr. Dawd in the morning. The Lady Millicent has demanded an inordinate amount of buttercream but her health is none of my concern.” 

A smirk appeared on his bloodless mouth. “Indeed.”

“Is there anything else?” 

“No, not particularly. Another death has been reported.” The butler mentioned, almost as an afterthought. “A girl—from the lace and cuff factory.”

“Hm.”

“It seems that she kept late hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Charity work.” He mused. “For the orphans on Surrey Street.”

The earl resumed his reading.

 

* * *

  

At half past eight the next morning, the earl awoke and wrote a letter to Misters Dawd, Fairchild, and Ellison. Another letter was sent to Lady Millicent Morton.

The butler wrote a brief note of condolence on behalf of the earl to the deceased girl’s relatives. This was done in between preparing the earl’s breakfast and organizing the kitchen cabinets.

Today, Sebastian remembered, was a Wednesday.

**Author's Note:**

> \- “Covenants, without the sword…” — comes from Thomas Hobbes’ magnum opus, ‘Leviathan’. 
> 
> A/N: Title ‘The Lotus Eaters’ references Homer’s ‘The Odyssey’. The lotus-eaters there consumed lotus plants as their primary food source. This then sent them into a state of hazy, peaceful apathy.


End file.
